


A Problem Shared is a Problem Halved

by Insanefangirl



Series: Mental Health with Team Free Will [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Good Sibling Sam Winchester, Self-Harming Dean Winchester, self-harm trigger warning, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insanefangirl/pseuds/Insanefangirl
Summary: The Winchester brothers are back together after Sam’s girlfriend dies in a fire and their Dad MIA. Dean isn’t copping well with the guilt.OrSam finds out about Dean’s self harming and helps him
Relationships: Sam Winchester & Dean Winchester
Series: Mental Health with Team Free Will [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889341
Comments: 5
Kudos: 114





	A Problem Shared is a Problem Halved

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t down supernatural or characters 
> 
> Please get help if you need it
> 
> Stay safe

Dean’s hands are shaking. His brain feels itchy and he can’t scratch at it. He’s tried. He’s got the blood underneath his fingernails to prove it. 

Sam’s here. He tries to reason. He can’t let Sammy see. His little brother would be so disappointed. That’s not working either. 

Sam has been back with him for two months now. Dean had been doing a good job keep the urge under wraps. It’s been so long though. 

Jessica is dead because of him. Sam is back in this horrible life because of him. Dad left and may be laying dead somewhere because of him. A lot of things are his fault, and it’s doesn’t seem like he can control any of it. Just like this. 

He eyes the razors. He doesn’t use his hunting knives. The razors are easier to hide, easier to explain, and he doesn’t have to maintain them. 

Finally with a deep inhale and a hitched exhale, he reaches for them. Toying with one between two of his fingers as he removes his bracelets with the others. 

A single drag is all it takes. Dean breaths in the feeling like cigarette smoke. He can’t remember why he would resist this. He does it again. And again. And again. 

Soon his arm has blood dripping down it, he’s careful not to let any run off to the floor or his cloths. Taking the roll of toilet paper mounted to the wall, he presses firmly on to the fresh cuts. He presses until his fingers turn white from the force he’s putting on them and the area beneath it begins to sting. 

He releases another breath into the dirty motel bathroom. Pulling back the toilet paper he looks at the cuts. They’re still welling with blood so he replaces his pressure. He can’t grab bandaids because they’ll stand out. He hasn’t used a bandaid since he was a kid. 

“Dean!” Sam stomps his way into their motel room. 

Dean jumps. He’s not supposed to be back yet. Shit. He quickly sets to work putting bloody toilet paper in the toilet. 

“Dean?” Sam knocks on the bathroom door and Dean swears he’ll throw up with nerves. “You in there?”

“Can’t a man get some privacy, dude, what the hell?” Dean’s voice is firm and normal but his hands still shake. 

He flushes the bloody paper down and throws the razor in the small garbage bin next to the toilet. He washes his hands, and replaces his bracelets before leaving the bathroom. 

“Did you get the pie?” Dean asks, walking past his brother.

“Have I ever forgotten the pie?” Sam hands him a cardboard container with a still warm piece of pie inside. 

They sit at the table. Sam digs into his chicken wrap while Dean eats his pie and French fries. His heart starts to calm down. 

Then. 

“Are you bleeding?” Sam asks, nodding to Dean’s wrist. 

Dean’s heart stops as his eyes dart to his wrist. Sure enough there is a tiny river of blood trailing its way down his arm. 

“Oh, that.” Dean fights to keep his voice even. “Paper cut.” 

“From what paper?” Sam’s right they’re in between cases no lore books out or newspaper in the room. 

“Dad’s journal.” 

Sam seems to accept this until he doesn’t. He sets his wrap down and looks at Dean skeptically. 

“Isn’t Dad’s journal in the impala?” Yes it is. The impala Sam had just gotten back with. 

“What is this twenty questions?” Dean stands and walks over to his duffle for a bandana. Now that Sam knows he’s bleeding he doesn’t have to hide it as much. 

“Dean’s how’d you cut yourself.” Sam is getting too curious. Dean needs to shut this down now. 

“A porn magazine, happy?” 

“No, you have all your porn alphabetized in the back seat.”

“Dude, that’s weird you know that.” Dean can’t help say. He’s feeling panic rising and he needs to get out of here. 

“Dean, let me see.” Sam is standing and walking towards him. He feels like a wild animal caught in a trap. 

“There’s nothing to see, it’s just a little cut. Why are you being so weird about this?” 

“One of Jess’ friends, she’d wear dozens of bracelets on her wrists.” Sam grabs for Dean’s wrist. He succeeds on the third try and grips it tight. “She said he did it to hide her scars.”

Sam rolls off the bracelets and Dean feels light headed. 

“See just some paper cuts.” Dean yanks his hand back. Sam lets him. 

“Where else?” Sam’s eyes are welling with tears. Dean feels like the biggest dick. 

“No where.” Dean’s going to puke. “It’s nothing. They’re nothing.”

“Dean,” Sam says in a soft voice and Dean looses it. 

He shoves past Sam and into the bathroom. He rips open the toilet seat and throws his head in. His lunch and breakfast say hello to him again. 

He pukes until there’s nothing left. After that he dry heaves. Sam sits next to him and rubs his back. He’s trying to cry silently, Dean can tell, but he can feel the hiccups through Sam’s hand. 

Dean gasps and colapses against the bathroom wall. It’s worse then his nightmares. He wipes his mouth with a shaky hand. 

“Are you done?” Sam asks. Dean can only nod mutely. 

Sam pulls him to his feet and hands him his toothbrush with toothpaste already on it. Dean throughly brushes his teeth. He doesn’t want this conversation, but Sam isn’t going to drop this. 

Eventually Dean can’t prevent it anymore. He places his toothbrush down, rinses his mouth, and let’s his brother lead him to the closest motel bed. 

“Dean?” Sam moves his head to catch Dean’s eyes. “Did you cut yourself on purpose?”

Dean looks at his brother’s eyes. They’re filled with tears and he wants to deny deny deny. It won’t help. Sam’s seen it. It’s too late. 

He picks at the stained blanket and feels his own head nod. He hears Sam’s breath catch. 

“Okay.” Sam takes a deep breath. “Tell me why.” 

It’s a demand not a question. Dean still drags his feet and shrugs. 

“No, tell me why.” Sam voice softens. “Please, let me understand.”

“I don’t know.” A tear leaks out of his eyes and he wipes at it viciously. “It’s my fault, you know. I’m sorry, Sam. It’s my fault and I’m sorry.”

“Hey, what are you sorry for?” Sam cups a grounding hand on his neck and cheek. 

“Everything. You shouldn’t be here.” Dean hiccups. “I’m sorry you’re here, and I’m sorry Dad left for good so I had to drag you here. I’m sorry your life turned upside down again, you don’t deserve any of this.” 

“Hey, hey,” Sam forces him to look into his eyes. Sam’s crying too. Great, he made Sam cry. “Stop that. Look I know we aren’t exactly back together under the best circumstances. I wish Dad and Jess were here, but I don’t regret being here with you. None of this is your fault.”

“But I didn’t need to come get you, I- I-“ 

“That fire would have happened regardless. That’s not your fault, it’s the demon’s. And Dad is a grown ass man who left on his own, that’s not your fault either. I don’t want you hunting alone. No one should hunt alone, so I’m glade I’m here watching your back.”

Dean’s shaking now. Sam removes his hand. He places them in his own lap. He seems to be being careful not to touch him.

“How long have you been cutting.” Sam’s voice cracks at the end but he makes it through. 

“Sixteen.” Dean says after some thought. 

“Why?” Sam’s shutting down his emotions to get the answers he doesn’t want. 

“I deserve it.” Dean mouths more then says. 

“Dean, growing up, none of that was your fault.” Sam says, his voice is firmer now so it doesn’t itch as much to listen to. “Those were the cards and they were shit -they still are- and you did the best you could with them.” 

“I didn’t know they taught you psychology in college.” Dean half laughs. 

Sam just gives him big puppy dog eyes. Then they’re quiet for a while. Dean sits and picks at the blanket. He’s tired, but he has a feeling Sam is still processing. 

“Does Dad know?” Sam asks. 

“No.” Dean feels sick again at the thought. 

“Does anyone?” 

“Bobby.”

“Bobby Singer?” Dean nods. That had been a doozy. Bobby had walked in on him cutting at his thighs with his jeans pulled down. 

“What happened?” 

“He caught me, talked to me, gave me the bracelets to hide them, and he said to call if I needed anything. I stayed for a week and I left.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three, maybe four, years ago.” Dean doesn’t care anymore. He’s too tired. He just wants to sleep now. His eyes feel heavy. 

“Okay.” Sam whispers. “Okay. Get some sleep, we’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Dude, longest chick-flick ever.” But Dean let’s Sam tug off his boots and pull back the covers of the bed, Sam’s bed. 

He’s asleep in minutes. The guilt and shame can come in the morning. Right now he’s just too tired. 

———

When he wakes up it’s noon of the next day. He had slept almost twenty-four hours. His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. 

He doesn’t remember last night until he rolls over and sees Sam typing away, eyes red and cheeks blotchy. He can’t deal with this right now so he goes to the bathroom instead. 

After taking care of his raging bladder and changing into some clean cloths, he exits the bathroom. This time Sam is looking at him. The laptop is out away. 

“I’ve been doing some research.” Sam says. 

“Nerd.” Dean comments shortly. This was how Sam wraps his head around things, he understands that. He had just really been hoping for some coffee before this started again. 

Sam seems to read his mind because he sets a paper coffee cup on the table across from where he’s sitting. Dean takes it and the chair across from his brother. 

“I’m not going to ask you to stop.” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up at this. “That’s not fair to you,” his brother continues. “I do want you to tell me when things get bad.”

Dean doesn’t like where this is going. It must show on his face because Sam presses on quickly. 

“You don’t have to tell tell me. Just do something to let me know that you’re struggling. I read it might help. It can be something small and subtle.”

“Like what?” Dean doesn’t hate this. Sam isn’t trying to fix him. It makes him feel less like there is  
anything to fix. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Sam shrugs. “Some sites said wearing long sleeves, but we kind of always do that and I feel like weather can mess with that too much. How about you give me the razors?”

Dean can feel his walls creeping up. It sounds too much like stopping. Sam is quick to backtrack and rephrase. 

“I just mean, what if you put your razors in my bag. You don’t have to tell me or anything. If you start to feel things go down hill, put them in my bag.”

“How,” Dean finds his voice after a while. “How is that supposed to help?”

“You want the science behind it?” Dean nods. “It’s a safety thing. If I know you’re struggling, I can keep an eye out and make sure it doesn’t get worse. I trust you to know, but this way there’s two sets of eyes. Second, it helps you monitor and admit when things aren’t as good. It is also a physical thing. If you physically distance yourself from the razors that’ll help your mindset.”

Dean nods and sips at his coffee. It sounds okay. Simple. It’s doesn’t feel like he’s being pressured or forced to share anything. 

“Okay.” Sam looks so pleased at him. “We can try it.” 

“Great.” Sam stands. “Wanna pack up and hit the road? I think I got us a case only a couple hours from here.”

Dean downs the rest of his coffee and stands too. “Yes, finally.” 

While Sam’s in the bathroom Dean slips his razors into his brother’s duffle. He feels a little lighter. He still feels guilty and a little out of control but Sam comes out of the bathroom and smiles at him. 

His brother knows. It’s not a bad thing. Sam doesn’t hate him or feel like he needs to be fixed or studied. He’s simply here if Dean needs him. 

“Let’s hit the road, bitch.” Dean swings his duffle over his shoulder and heads out the door. 

“Right behind you, jerk.” The motel door slams shut behind them.


End file.
